Birthday

Your birthday is today, Bobo. It’s September 9th. You don’t get the concept of a birthday. You don’t get the concept of presents, celebrations, etc. You do like a balloon and a cupcake, there’s no question there. You also enjoy the singing part of it. You’ve always been unsure why people seem to be singing to you specifically, but you certainly like it.

We were told very early that this would be a very hard day for us. I don’t think I truly understood what I was being told, honestly. Like many holidays and celebrations, you don’t really like them. It’s a lot of fanfare which isn’t up your alley. And I somehow mistook that to mean that these events wouldn’t create the sort of heartbreak that was being described to me. If you weren’t that into it, why would I be?

I’m now realizing that it’s like that now that you’re gone. All those things that we used to do, even if you weren’t really “into” them, were more about moving through the social structure in ways that we recognized, and taking you with us. Because that was really the bottom line, we always want you with us. On that day in September, 7 years ago, you became our entire world. And now that you aren’t walking this earth anymore, I’m finding that you still are my entire world.

For this birthday, the first that would be celebrated after your passing, we chose to book a house in Santa Cruz. It has also been suggested that we create a ritual around your birthday. Something that we’d do every year. Your grandmother thought a road trip would be good, since we went on so many with you. I felt like Disneyland was a good choice. We were there on your 5th birthday (I still have the button) and would have repeated it on your 6th but it was closed due to the Coronavirus pandemic. So I felt like your 7th would be a revival of it and then every year we could celebrate you there, in the place we took you so often, sometimes to your chagrin. Your mother wasn’t ready to do that, which is understandable. Disneyland holds so many great memories with you, both in and out of the park. So Santa Cruz it was. It was me, your mother, your grandmother and grandfather Wagner and your big sister, Jordan. Your brother Jaxson was at work and was unable to come down since it was during the week.

The morning of, I woke up and the darkness and emptiness that I felt was like a 2 ton weight on me. Like I said, I didn’t realize that this was really going to be any worse than any other day since you’ve been gone, since they’ve all been so damn bad. But all the information I’d collected about how bad it would feel turned out to be exactly correct. The night before I’d made cupcakes for your class at Innovative. I wanted to make sure that all those kids could enjoy a cupcake like you did. With those cupcakes I delivered two books, one called Rabbityness, which is a children’s book and very well sums up your entire personality I think. Another was a book on grief that was suggested to me and I felt I should pass on to your teachers. In the early morning, before leaving to deliver your cupcakes, I placed 7 cupcakes on a plate (the same number I’d put on the plate last year, weird right?) and two candles in them. I put them on the same spot on the table where you’d sat, with a monster truck toy next to the plate. The only thing missing was you. I took the picture of that empty chair. The pain I felt at that moment has been a pain I’ve been feeling every day since you passed. It’s acute and catastrophic. And I have no idea how to dig out of it.

After delivering the cupcakes to your school, in what was a bit of a crying mess, we hit the road. Me, your mother and your sister, making the 4 hour drive to Santa Cruz. The drive was mostly silent. No lunch, which was my fault pretty much, because I didn’t feel hungry and was lost in my own head. No one suggested it though, so maybe I wasn’t alone. Grief does a funny thing to the appetite. Early grief pretty much buries it completely, and long term grief seems to take an appetite away out of nowhere. I’ve been mid bite before and got a vision of you that ended my meal on the spot.

That afternoon we went for a walk to a nearby harbor and checked out a few places that may have been dinner candidates. We ended up getting pizza delivered. We sat down to eat it at the dinner table and the remembrance of you began. It was tear soaked and emotional. We talked about all your uniqueness and your love that you had for us. All the love we had for you. And like I said, I stopped eating halfway through because it was too much. Eventually after we spent over an hour talking and crying we migrated to the couch where your mother and I would introduce your grandparents and your sister to the Great British Baking show. And we’d all sit and watch. At 11:05pm (the time you were born, 7 years ago), I’d light a candle near your shrine that I travel with. On this trip it included : your sleep sheep, the stuffed bear that laid next to you in the ICU, two books : Your singing Disney Happy Birthday book that your Hartman Grandparents got you on your birthday last year (which they’d put stickers in to signify it was your 6th) that you love to press the button on and listen to it play the birthday song, the book Rabbityness, two vtech toys, one is a taxi and one is the school bus that I bought a small cremation ash keepsake for and put inside of the bus so that I can take your ashes out of town with me, and your first pair of Converse high tops that we bought you. I also handed around our allocation of cupcakes to everyone. We did not sing. I wish we had. But next year we will, I promise. At 11:05pm, September 9th, 2022, you will get a birthday serenade.

What I realized most of all on your birthday, that I said I didn’t think would be a thing, is that these days…. these milestones… will be hard. Every one of them, every year, until I’m gone. And after feeling the physical toll that your passing has taken on me, I’m thinking that I won’t have to deal with too many more of these before that comes to pass.

Happy 7th Birthday Benjamin Oliver Hartman. I miss you, for now. I’ll see you real soon.